


The Darkest of our Days

by DarkMoonMaiden



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BAMF!Gwen, Bullying, Eventual Happy Ending, Homophobia, M/M, Self-Harm, Slowly Building Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Superfamily, hurt!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMoonMaiden/pseuds/DarkMoonMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's whole life is crumbling apart around him, and no one seems to notice but Gwen and Wade. They just hope that they can save Peter from himself before he does something drastic...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOW THIS IS THE LAST TIME I TRY TO WRITE FLUFF AFTER BEING OFF MY ANTIDEPRESSANTS A FEW DAYS GODDAMN.
> 
> I decided to stretch this into four or five parts instead of a one shot, which it was originally supposed to be, because I just have so much I wanna put in it ahh.

_Inhale. Exhale._

Peter didn’t look up from his textbook as Flash tried to get his attention, his jock friends snickering and urging him on in loud jeers. The rest of the class sat on in silence, watching, waiting for something to happen, waiting to see who would move first. A quick look up confirmed that the teacher was still in the room, but was at his desk, engrossed in whatever was on his laptop.

“Oi, _Parker_.”

The way his name sounded coming out of Flash’s was like an insult, a million needles that pricked his skin and left his heart palpitating. His fist clenched on his thigh, blunt fingernails digging into his palm. He ignored the larger teen, flipping the page of his book.

He bit back a gasp of pain as Flash punched his shoulder, the blow landing next to one of the tender bruises that covered his back. His eyes watered, but Peter held it in, fearing what Flash and his buddies would do if they knew that they were actually getting to him.

“You deaf, fucktard?” one of the jocks yelled at him. The hood of his sweatshirt was yanked back, gagging him. “You in there, Puny Parker?” was yelled into his ear, followed by knocking on the side of his head. “Hello?”

_Inhale. Exhale._

Peter pulled out of his grasp roughly while they laughed like hyenas, silently straightening his sweatshirt.

The ones who weren’t taking part in his torment averted their gazes emotionlessly when he looked at them. None of them made a move to stick up for Peter, and he knew exactly why. No one wanted to try to stand up for Flash’s punching bag, fearing that they would end up taking Parker’s place. It was better if the nerd was the one who was beaten up on a daily basis, instead of a student who actually had friends and parents.

Peter watched dully as his textbook was snatched off his desk and practically ripped to pieces, knowing that he would have to come up with the money to pay for a new one.

_Inhale. Exhale._

* * *

 

Peter was well aware that the other Avengers thought he was the weakest link on the team.

Whenever there was a mission, he was given the most detailed orders to go along with the simplest of tasks. He was always offered extra training with Steve, being told he needed to work on building up more muscle. Tony would tease and mock him in his merciless way about ‘growing up’ and ‘being a teenager,’ while Bruce would silently listen on, as everyone seemed to do in Peter’s life if they weren’t somehow hurting him.

Clint and Natasha had made it clear from Day 1 that they didn’t approve of him being on the team. Clint stayed stony and silent whenever the teenager tried to make conversation, while Natasha would occasionally make snarky jabs at how terrible his fighting form was.

Peter had worked his hardest to prove them all wrong. He never complained about anything mission-related, only forcing the ‘school totally sucks’ complaints that were expected of him. He only went to the infirmary when his team noticed that he was injured, or when the pain was unbearable and he needed painkillers.

It was after a mission, and Peter was silently changing into his street clothes, so he could go back to his Aunt’s house. Clint was leaning against the wall next to him, gaze narrowed and a scowl on his face.

“You were sloppier than usual today,” he was saying bluntly. “Three targets got passed you, and nearly got shot.”

“Sorry,” Peter uttered, slowly pulling of his ripped, dirty shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clint’s glare heat up when he saw the bruises and cuts that dotted his torso. Nervously, he hurriedly said, “They’ll be gone in a few days. Y’know, cause of my super fast healing—“

“Just make sure it doesn’t affect your work,” Clint interrupted him. “I don’t want anyone to die because of your mistakes.” He pushed himself off the wall and left Peter to finish changing.

_Inhale. Exhale._

* * *

 

Gwen was his only solace.

She was the first one since kindergarten to stick up for him. She had kicked Flash right in the balls with her high-heeled boys when Peter had been pinned to the lockers by him.  A few of her friends had to drag her, fighting and screaming and insulting, away from the bully before the teachers came again.

Gwen had then approached him the next day and given him a stern talking to, telling him how he didn’t need to deal with Flash’s bullshit, that no one would blame him for just punching him and putting him in his place a bit. She’d encouraged Peter to stand up for himself, or just leave the classroom if he was being bullied. Peter had stood there silently, staring at the ground until she had finished talking. Much to his shock, she then grabbed his hand and ditched class with him to get a coffee.

They’d been best friends ever since.

Whenever Gwen was around, Flash would back off. He’d still sneer at Peter from across the room, mouthing threats and making strangling motions with his hands, but Peter was safe for a few minutes, and that was all that mattered.

_Inhale. Exhale._

Last year had been the last school year Peter had had with Gwen, before she graduated and went off to college. Now, in his junior year, the torment was at its all time high. Flash and his cronies were ‘making up for lost time,’ since he no longer had Gwen to protect him.

They kept in close touch, since Gwen’s college was only ten minutes away. They would hang out as much as possible, but between Gwen’s internship and Peter’s Spiderman duties, that was usually only once or twice a week. She would make sure to call at every opportunity, though, to keep him up to date with what was happing in her life and vice versa.

Her apartment was Peter’s safe haven. Gwen gave him a key to the apartment, saying that he could use it anytime. Her roommate was sweet and funny, leaving him to his own devices and only jokingly asked him why he was there, never expecting an answer. There was always a change of clean clothes for him, in case he had to quickly change out of his costume, and a heavy-duty first aid kit.

Peter had had another horrible argument with his aunt, which was happening more and more lately. He wasn’t allowed to tell Aunt May about his job as Spiderman, under SHIELD orders. It would put her at too much of a risk, and she would have to be moved to a secret location for her own safety. The elderly lady could tell her nephew was hiding something from her, and it made her angry and fearful for Peter’s wellbeing.

Peter dragged his feet up the stairs, head down and bag slung over his shoulder. His body ached in protest, muscles stiff and sore from fight not an hour earlier. It took him four tries to successfully put the key into the lock and open the front door.

Cassy was sprawled out on the couch when he entered, hair mussed from sleep and watching cartoons. She didn’t even look up when he walked in, just grunting out a greeting before focusing on the TV again.

Peter went straight to Gwen’s room to grab the first aid kit and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Gwen’s roommate had a terrible habit of just barging into a room if she knew you were decent.

He took off his sweatshirt and shirt and carefully started to clean the numerous cuts that littered his chest. Some of them were from Flash, some of them were from the mission, and some were from himself.

_Inhale. Exhale._

Peter took his time, paying attention to every individual cut that littered his body. He put disinfectant on them, and pressed band-aids over the deeper ones. After he was done, he slowly pulled the sweatpants and a new T-shirt, changing into them. He pulled the sweatshirt back on, hiding his cut arms.

Throwing his bag into Gwen’s room, he went back into the living room and sat next to Cassy, not complaining when she draped her legs and blanket over him.

“You spendin’ the night?” she asked, her gaze lingering on his black eye.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “When’s Gwen gonna be home?”

She shrugged. “She’s at an ‘I-Survived-Exams’ party with some of the people form her study group. She should be back around midnight.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Are you okay?” Cassy asked.

“I’m fine.”

_Inhale._ _Exhale._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I should explain the 'Inhale. Exhale.' thing. I'm kind of basing that off of personal experience: when I get into deep depressions, everything hurts and makes me exhausted, even breathing. So it's a challenge to just take one breath after another. 
> 
> Also, I'm using it because whenever I cry or get upset, people just tell me to take 'deep breaths' and calm down--so, Peter's always trying to calm his down.
> 
> Thank you for reading! ((If you left a comment, I would be most happy u.u))


	2. Chapter 2

It was inevitable that Peter would snap.

He didn’t understand what set him off; the day was like any other day, with Flash and his buddies cornering him at his locker and tearing him apart verbally. He could only sit there and take it, his head pounding terribly and papers scattered across the floor.

As Peter’s headache grew worse, their voices started to blend and blur, making it impossible to define where one word ended and the other began. Their faces lost their features, morphing into skin-coloured blobs.

“You’re pathetic without your little bitch Gwen!”

_Shut up. Don’t talk about her._

“Probably the only reason she stays with him is ‘cause he has a big dick.”

_Shut up. It’s not like that._

A large hand shoved his shoulder into the locker, creating a loud bang. There were titters from the bystanders that tickled the back of his skull, wriggling like worms under his skin. Where were the teachers? Shouldn’t they notice all these people loitering around in the hallways, shouting profanities?

“Shut up,” Peter whispered before he knew what he was doing.

“What was that, _fag_?” Flash yelled, cupping his ear mockingly and shoving it in his face. “What are you bitching about now?”

“I said shut up,” he said at the same volume, a tremor running through the last word.

“Ooo, is Puny Parker trying to stand up for himself?” someone gasped mockingly., and immediately the semicircle of people around him burst into jeers.

“Are you, Parker? Huh?” Another shove into the lockers. Peter bit his tongue until his mouth filled with the tangy taste of blood, taking rapid breaths.

“Look, he’s getting all mad!” someone crowed. “See his hands?”

“I think he wants to punch you, Flash,” a person closer said in false wonder.

“Is that what you wanna do?” Flash said, mood suddenly going from playful to serious.  He wrapped his hand around Peter’s throat and slammed him back, head knocking against the metal harshly. Flash brought their faces so close that Peter could smell his minty breath.

“Get away from me,” Peter managed to spit out, clawing at Flash’s hand.

“Do you really think I’d _let_ you punch me, Peter?” Flash growled, gripping tighter. “Do you really think you have the _balls_ to actually do it? You’re pathetic, Parker. You know it, I know it, everyone around here knows it. Stop trying to pretend like you’re not.”

“Get out of my face, Flash,” Peter said, voice raising.

“ _Or what, Parker_?” Flash roared in his face. “What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“Take a swing at him, Puny Parker!” a boy taunted him, making the others roar in approval.

“Do it!”

“He doesn’t have the guts!”

“Break his nose!”

“Do it, Parker!” Flash snarled. “Just like I told you, you—“

The last of Peter’s self control fell to pieces. He stopped pulling at the hand around his neck and shoved Flash away with his inhuman strength. The bigger boy went flying into the lockers on the other side of the hallway, sending other teenagers stumbling backwards.

Peter was on him in seconds, one hand holding his tormentor in place and the other repeatedly pounding into Flash’s face. He felt his nose give way under his fist, blood pouring out. He didn’t stop, losing count of how many times his fist came down over and over and over until he was hauled off of the nearly unconscious boy by the school’s police officer and a teacher.

The trip down the hall to the principal’s office passed in a blur for Peter until he found himself shoved in a rickety chair, waiting for someone to come and tell him what his punishment was, with the mandatory lecture to go along with it.

The principal came in a few minutes later, in a rage. He stalked from side to side, ranting and screaming about how he was furious at Peter, that the teenager was lucky he wasn’t going to be expelled or thrown into jail. Even if he had supposedly been ‘bullied’ (here, the principal used air quotes and an eye roll), that didn’t give Peter an excuse to break someone’s nose.

It nearly gave Peter hope when the police officer came in and talked to him. His gaze was also harsh, but it was still softer than the principal’s. Understanding. He actually took time to look at the bruises on Peter’s arms and his neck. He took pictures of them for references, and told the principal that Peter was, in fact, telling the truth.

Peter was still suspended from school for a week and a half, Flash for only half a week. It sent ice down into his stomach, knowing that he would have to hide for the time that Flash was out of school, because the jock would sure as hell be out for Peter’s blood.

Aunt May was called, and ten minutes later she came in with a stony expression and hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She wouldn’t look at her nephew as she sat down, silently listening to the principal tell the biased story of what happened.  When she had apologized profusely to the principal, saying that Peter would be punished accordingly, she had left the school with him trailing morosely behind her.

After driving in silence for a few minutes, Peter tried to break the silence in his hoarse voice. “Aunt May…”

“Don’t, Peter,” she said. He blanched at the bitterness he heard. “Just don’t.”

They didn’t speak again until they were inside the house, Aunt May setting the car keys silently on the table and Peter was standing hunched in the kitchen.

Aunt May sighed heavily, shoulders and head drooping. She didn’t turn around to face Peter. “Why are you doing this to me, Peter?” she asked softly. “Why are you putting me through all this so soon after—after Ben?”

They both flinched at their loved one’s name. That wound was too open to be talked about. And it would still be too open in the next ten years, and the next twenty…

“Aunt May—“ Peter tried to whisper.

“No, Peter,” she held up her hand for him to stop, trembling. “I’ve heard your excused for the past year, and I’m not going to stand for them any longer. You’ve—you’ve been out for nights on end, not even calling, coming home with _bruises_ , somehow getting your hands on prescription painkillers, always hanging around that Tony Stark…I’ve seen the news, I know what he’s like. And he’s influencing you to follow in his footsteps.”

“No, it’s not—“

“I have _tried_ ,” she emphasized with a barely concealed sob. “God knows I’ve tried to help you, Peter, but I don’t think I can. You—you need to learn responsibility, and you can’t do that when you have me to lead on. You earn enough money, if you don’t spend it on illegal drugs.”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Aunt May,” he faltered. “You can’t mean it…”

Aunt May finally met his gaze, her eyes red and puffy from holding back her tears. She sniffed and held a hand over her mouth. “I want you and your things out of my house by the end of the week,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

She left the room.

Peter stood in the kitchen for what felt like ever, staring at the spot his Aunt had been leaning over the kitchen table. He kept on replaying the scenario again and again in his, unable to escape it. The weight on his chest was now practically unbearable, making his breathing harsh and uneven. Blood was trickling down his hand from where his nails and pierced the palm of his hand, splashing onto the white tiled ground. In the other room, he could hear Aunt May sobbing brokenly into her pillow.

Peter dropped to his knees and mechanically wiped away the blood drops with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, making sure to clean it before it left stains. Aunt May didn’t need any reminders of Peter when he was gone. It wouldn’t be fair on her.

He dragged himself to his bedroom, where he could hear the crying get louder. He closed his door with a barely audible click and sat on the edge of his bed, listening to his aunt cry for what felt like hours. He didn’t move and stared at the blank wall until she finally quieted and left the house, slamming the front door behind her.

His phone had buzzed, and he unlocked it to see he had texts from his team. The first one was from Agent Coulson, telling him that Peter was suspended from the team until he was able to ‘clear his head’ and ‘clean up his act.’ There were a few texts from Steve and Tony, both of them expressing their disappointment at his lack of control and saying that it would be best if he didn’t contact them until he was back on the team. There was a worried text from Gwen, and only a ‘ _Hey._ ’ from Bruce.

Peter was tempted to throw his phone against the wall. Watch the screen shatter and rain down small shards of glass, so he could just have a few blissful moments away from his life. But as he raised his hand to throw it, he slowly let it drop to the floor, screen down.

Peter laid his aching body down onto the top of his blankets, shifting so he was comfortable. His arms fell limply at his sides, and he watched as the sun began to set outside. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. It frightened him to think about how everything would change if he let it all go.

Fingertips brushed against the side of his pillow, reaching underneath it for the bottle of pills from SHIELD and the pocketknife he had nicked from a robber. He pulled the bottle out first, shaking out three pills and swallowing them dry. The orange container was pushed back into its rightful spot, the knife taking its place in Peter’s hand.

Peter toyed with the familiar weapon, pricking his finger on the sharp edge. Gruesome curiosity held his attention to the drop of blood as he welled up in the cut, winding down to his wrist.

Peter slowly rolled up his sleeves to reveal his black and blue arms. He didn’t care if he got blood on his shirt—there were already splatters on it from Flash, what harm would more blood do? He took in the sight, searching for a spot that wasn’t injured. He chose the inside of his upper arm. It was going to be the first time he had cut higher than his hips, because of how hard it was to hide. During Shield’s medical exams, they only ever told him to take off his shirt, never his pants, making it easy to keep his cuts secret.

The slices of the knife weren’t especially deep this time around, just far enough into his skin to get the desired effect. One cut, then a pause to let the pain sink in. Then another. And another. A final one, before he pressed his shirt down on them to stop the blood from getting on the sheets that were no longer his.

His rapid healing made the wounds clot over minutes later, stopping the bleeding. Another few later, they were scabbed over enough that he wouldn’t need to bandage or put band-aids on them.

He took off his shirt and shoved it under his bed, mustering up enough energy to pull on a clean, long-sleeved shirt. He curled up into a loose ball on his bed, the pain pills dragging him into a half asleep state.

Time passed, and there was the sound of a door slamming into a wall. Fighting back his sleepiness, He struggled into a sitting position, looking up at the imposing figure of Gwen in his doorway.

“Come on,” she said, pulling out a bag from his closet and stuffing clothes into it. “We’re going on vacation.”

Peter blinked. “To where?” he managed to slur.

She was in front of him in a second, staring into his eyes. “Did you take something?” she asked, using her pointer finger and thumb to pull his eye wider open.

“Some painkillers,” Peter responded truthfully.

“How many?” she pressed suspiciously, straightening up and putting her hands on her hips.

“Three.”

She let out a short breath, returning back to packing Peter’s things. His drugged brain noticed that she had filled his suitcase and was now putting the rest of his things into moving boxes that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Gwen must have talked to Aunt May and found out, he realized. She had his aunt’s number, and when he hadn’t picked up, she had called him.

“Is this everything?” Gwen asked as the last box was taped shut, two others already sealed next to her.

"I think so," he said, ignoring the blood rushing to his head when he stood up.

He was about to pick up a box, but stopped and straightened back up. Peter flopped onto the edge of his bed weakly, looking around the room he had called home for most of his life. It was so much emptier and barer than he had ever seen it. The mess of clothes that constantly littered his floor was gone, the various books that were on his shelves were gone, the dozens of notebooks filled with schoolwork were gone. All of what had made the room _Peter’s_ was gone. Erased in a little under half an hour.

“Do you need some privacy?” Gwen brought him back to the present, her hand sneaking into his. “I can leave and come back later…”

“No,” he said in no more than a whisper. “I’m okay.” She gave him a pitying, small smile that said she had seen through his lie.

Peter took the gym bag, waiting for Gwen to go out the door first. Before he left, Peter snatched the knife from under his pillow and tucked it securely into one of the side pockets of the bag, praying desperately that Gwen wouldn’t find it.

"I’ll have to get the furniture out when I find a place to live,” Peter said, mind going through the numbers about how much this whole thing was going to cost. “Do you know any good moving companies? Or someone with a truck?”

Gwen gave him an odd look as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “You don’t need to move it,” she said. “My place already has a bed and everything else. Peter? Are you okay?”

Peter dropped the box--luckily, it wasn't anything breakable--and hugged her tightly from behind, burying his face in her neck. Gwen put the boxes on the table next her, and wriggled around to return the hug.

“Did you think I was just going to just leave you out on the streets?” she breathed a laugh, running her fingers through his messy hair. “Come on, Petey, you know me better than that.”

“I just thought you wouldn’t want me to live with you,” he mumbled, heart swelling at being able to touch someone without it being a defensive move or to push them away. When was the last time he’d just…hugged someone? He honestly couldn’t remember.

She swatted him lightly on his arm, pulling away. “Oh ye of little faith,” she said, picking up the boxes again. “Come on, I wanna get coffee and get to the lake house before the morning.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Here's the next chapter of the story :) 
> 
> This one's a bit 'brighter' than the other chapters, as will the next chapter be. This won't last for long, though, and the story will get darker soon before we give Peter his happiness ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

The vacation house was large, as was expected, on the edge of a large lake. There were other houses around the still waters, but they were far enough away that privacy could be maintained.

They had arrived around two in the morning, and Gwen had told Peter to make a frozen pizza while she took their bags to their rooms. They were both too wired from the numerous coffees they’d had on the drive there to sleep.

Peter put the oven on to preheat and leaned against the counter, pulling up one of his sleeves to check the cuts he had given himself earlier. They were swollen, and the ridges of scabs were hard under his hand as he ran it over them gingerly. In a week or two, they would be completely healed, leaving new scars for people to silently judge him for.

Peter heard Gwen running down the stairs, and dragged his sleeve back down, putting on an innocent face. “Hey. The oven just needs to heat up…”

He noticed the familiar pocketknife she was clutching in her hand.

“Show me,” she said tightly.

Peter’s heart pounded in his ears, nausea making his head spin. “They’re on my legs,” he blurted abruptly, groping for an excuse not to show her. “I—I can’t really show you—“

She took his elbow and dragged him into the upstairs bathroom, kicking the door closed behind her. She stood in front of the door with her arms crossed, eyes harried as she waited for him to show her.

Peter did as she asked, and he heard her sharp inhalation at the sight of his body. The cuts varied in age, either an angry red or the pale pink of scar tissue. They covered his legs almost completely, making his skin bumpy and uneven.

Gwen stared at him for a long time, eyes wide and her body unmoving. “Those are going to scar, honey,” she whispered, reaching out to touch his leg. He flinched, but held still as she carefully ran her fingertips over some of the newer cuts. “Are there any others?”

He pulled up his sleeve, showing the long cuts. She touched those, too, before allowing him to get dressed again. Afterwards, she choked on a sob and apologized over and over again.

“Why are you sorry?” Peter asked blankly.

“Because I didn’t know,” she cried. “I didn’t know that you were hurting yourself like this.”

Gwen cried for a long time, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Peter stayed with her, but couldn’t touch her. When he had tried to, it felt like his skin was burning, that it would blister off and reveal bleached bone. She calmed down eventually, and pressed a sound kiss to his cheek before announcing that she was going to bed. She took the pocketknife with her, sliding it into her sweater pocket.

Peter was still too awake to go to bed. He turned off the oven and grabbed a blanket, slipping out the back door to sit on the porch.

The night air was chilled, but the blanket helped warm Peter. He sat down on one of the deck chairs with his legs curled up to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees and watched the waves lap gently at the rocky shore, the lowering moon shining on the rippling water.

The closest house’s lights flicked on, and Peter’s sensitive hearing could pick up loud cackling and yelling coming from inside. Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair while waiting for the silence to return. A door opened and slammed shut with loud yells before the lights were turned off. The peace returned, and Peter let his shoulders drop.

He leaned against the back of the chair, pulling up his sleeve despite the cold to look at his arm. He brushed his fingers against the cuts the same way Gwen had, her apologies running through his mind on a loop. No matter what else he focused on, his brain dragged him back to the image of Gwen crying into her hands as she begged for him to forgive her, when it wasn’t her fault in any way, shape or form. Couldn’t she see it was all his fault? He was the one who harmed himself. He was the one who took the small knife to his body, carved into it his anger and frustration. He was the one to not stand up for himself.

“Spidey?”

Peter was on his feet in a heartbeat, muscles tense and ready for a fight. Standing on the edge of porch, seeming to have come out of nowhere, was Deadpool. He had on his trademark black and red mask, but wore a baggy sweater and black sweatpants.

“What are you doing here?” Peter spat, feeling naked without his costume.

Deadpool leered at him. “Well, I was just on vacation, but now that _you’re_ here…”

“Cut the bullshit and leave me the hell alone, Wade,” Peter snarled, watching with grim satisfaction when he saw the mercenary straighten with surprise.

“Whoa there, little dude, there’s no need to freak out—hey, what’s that on your arm?”

_Fuck._ Peter tugged his sleeve down, trying and failing to play it off cool. “It’s nothing. Stop trying to change the subject.”

Wade’s hand darted out, gripping his wrist. Peter felt a thrill of fear, and reacted by punching the other. Wade ducked before his fist could land, using the superhero’s momentum to shove Peter to the ground. He straddled the lithe teenager, holding his wrists above his head and using his legs to hold down Peter’s.

“Let me go!” Peter said, his voice raising. He managed to lift his wrists momentarily before Wade pressed them back onto the porch, easily overpowering him.

Wade laughed. “What? Did your girlfriend scratch you during—“ Peter felt like he was going to throw up before he died of embarrassment as Wade stared down at the cuts on his wrist, his normally chattering mouth quiet.

“Get off,” Peter babbled, fighting desperately. “They’re nothing, just a hazard of the job, I swear.”

“Petey, you’re talking to a self-destructive lunatic,” Wade broke in. “I know what those are.”

“No you don’t!” Peter cried out, breathing quickening and eyes darting around for a means of escape. “They—they were just from shop class! I fell on something!”

“I thought they were from fighting the evildoers of the world,” Wade called out his bluff, raising an eyebrow underneath his mask.

“They—they _are_ —I was attacked in _class_ and—“ Peter was hyperventilating, fighting violently to get out from under Wade. He needed to, had to get away from him, had to just go inside and freak out by himself or take painkillers so he could forget about it all and sleep for a few hours.

“If that was what had happened,” Wade pointed out. “Then why are you trying to get me to believe you?”

Peter looked into the white eyes of the mask, terrified and on the verge of a breakdown, as he knew he was caught.

“Is that why you’re suspended from the Avengers?” Wade continued insistently, leaning their faces closer. “Because you needed time off for your ‘mental health?’” Peter cringed.

“Why do you care?” Peter yelled, back arching in an attempt to buck his harasser off. “Leave me the hell alone already!” _Why won’t he just stop?_

“Because you’re my buddy,” Wade responded truthfully, seemingly returning to his crazy, cheerful self.  “I mean, how many times have we teamed up to kill crazy butt-munchers bent on world domination?” His mood abruptly changed again. “There are more cuts.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. “Show me.”

Peter let out a shocked bark of laughter. “You can’t be serious,” he said, his fear fueling his anger. “No! I’m not going to show you them!”

Wade’s group abruptly went loose around his wrists. He let one of them go and rolled up his mask so Peter could see his mouth, which was downturned into an unhappy frown. His other rough hand dragged down his forearm, and that scared Peter more than anything else Wade had done that night. His touches were so much different than Gwen’s, his hand rough and scarred from years of fighting. He traced the four cuts individually, feeling every ridge of the scabs. His hand brushed against the inside of his elbow before going back up to the cut that was closes to his wrist.

Peter’s breath hitched, flitting his gaze between Wade’s hand and the mercenary’s masked eyes. It felt so weird to be touched so gently, as odd as it had been (or more so) than when Gwen had. His panic rose as Wade lifted Peter’s wrist towards his scarred mouth.

“I don’t like you hurting yourself,” Wade said, and the truthfulness stunned Peter. He finally pressed a dry, chaste kiss to his arm.

Peter scrabbled out from under Wade and into a sitting position, blood rushing behind his ears. They stared at each other through Wade’s mask, and Peter shakily stood up, nervously brushing dirt off of his pants. Peter hesitated a moment before speaking.

“Don’t…don’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice a cross between questioning and begging.

“I won’t,” Wade said. “And don’t think this is the end of this.” Peter nodded tiredly, wrapping the blanket from before around his shoulders again.

Peter left Wade lounging on the deck and went into Gwen’s house, making sure to lock all of the doors before turning off the lights. He climbed the stairs and went into the room that had his bag laying on the neatly folded bed, moonlight trickling in through the window.

He flopped onto the bed face first, falling asleep almost instantly. It didn’t bring him any relief, though, because images of Uncle Ben, Gwen, and surprisingly Wade filled his head, all of them staring at him with pity and disgust.

In her room, Gwen silently closed her window.

***

Peter woke up what felt like only moments later, shooting upright. His room was now bright, and outside he could hear the squealing of children and the occasional splash of water. There was the clattering of pans in the room below his, and quiet jazz that belonged to Gwen’s favorite band.

Changing into a hoodie and more comfortable pants, Peter made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. Gwen was still in her pajamas—a pair of shorts and a faded T-shirt—as she flitted around, humming to herself as she cooked what smelled like hash browns and bacon.

“Hey there, sleepy head,” she said, smiling at him as Peter sat down at the island. “How’d you sleep?’

He shrugged listlessly, pulling at his sleeves. “I slept okay,” he lied. “You?”

Gwen raised an eyebrow as she evenly distributed the food onto their two plates. “I slept fine,” she said, handing him a fork. She motioned for him to follow her into the living room.

Peter pressed himself as far into the arm of the couch as he could, curling in on himself. Gwen calmly sat down on the other side of the couch, not saying anything as she flicked on the TV and Peter hesitantly pressed his feet against her leg, mentally sighing with relief when she didn't push him away.

They ate in silence. Peter felt queasy, waiting for Gwen to bring up the night before. Also, him and Wade’s arguing hadn’t necessarily quiet, so he added that to the list of things that he should expect Gwen’s to bring up.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Gwen asked. “We can do whatever you want. This vacation is one hundred percent yours, I’m just here for your entertainment. We can watch movies, go swimming, play games, take a walk…”

“I’m pretty much fine with anything,” he said. He flinched under her raised eyebrow. “Uh, let’s just finish breakfast and watch some movies for now. We can, uh, go outside later.” She agreed with the idea and they went back to eating their breakfast, occasionally making remarks to each other about whatever was on the television.

Gwen sat up and stretched, her sweater riding up. “Peter, would you do a big favor for me?” she said, clasping her hands in front of her face.

He watched her warily. “What?” he asked warily, picking up her plate and taking it to the kitchen.

“We need some things from the store,” she said, pulling off the list from the fridge. “Could you pretty please run down there and get it? I’d come with you, but I have cramps and one of my dad’s friends is stopping in soon to say hi.”

Peter looked down at the list and felt himself begin to blush at the first two things. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbled. “Tampons and pads? Do I have to? I mean—do you have, uh, enough to last—“

“It wounds me to think that you think I would torture you like that,” Gwen chuckled. “Yes, you have to. I’m on my last pad.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder, drawing his gaze up to her sad smile. “I also thought…you might want some time alone. To think.”

Peter hesitantly agreed. “I’ll go get ready,” he said, and went up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Peter left the house with the directions and list of needed/wanted items. Gwen waited until he had disappeared around the bend of the road before dropping her neutral expression for one of rage.

Taking long, purposeful strides, Gwen went into the basement and started rummaging through the boxes of sports equipment, successfully finding the metal baseball bat she had been looking for. She brushed off a few cobwebs from it while she went back up to the main floor.

She slipped on her tennis shoes, not bothering to undo the laces. Gwen locked the door behind her before she marched purposefully towards the neighbors’ house, bat clenched in her manicured fist. Attempting to reign in her anger while simultaneously preparing for an attack, she rapped her knuckles harshly on the door.

There was no response. Not even the sound of someone moving. Gwen knocked harder and was rewarded with slurred yelling, but still no one came to answer the door. With an annoyed growl, she pounded on the door. She smirked with satisfaction when there was the sound of stumbling feet, steadily getting louder before the door was yanked open.

Deadpool stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of sweatpants and no shirt to reveal his scarred and muscular chest. He still wore his masked, with the lower half rolled up to reveal his mouth.

He stared at her, still half asleep. “Hey,” he said slowly. “You’re Spidey’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Gwen,” she said with forced politeness, holding out her hand. “Gwen Stacey. No, I’m not his girlfriend.” His head tilted down to stare at her hand, shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh, yeah, hi,” he said, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “Is there any reason why you’re here, blondie?”

Gwen took a deep breath, holding it as she met his confused gaze through the mask. “We need to talk about Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, bad jokes? You can direct them to my tumblr, if you'd like: http://darkmoonmaiden.tumblr.com/ u.u
> 
> I love you all <3!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for how late this has been posted. I've been having some major personal problems pop up. 
> 
> It was supposed to be posted a few days ago, but I'm in Sweden, running around. And then I found out that wowow my dad's girlfriend is pregnant and she's my new stepmom and my medication isn't working anymore and WOW EVERYTHING SUCKS. Excuse the rant.
> 
> After this chapter, there's just one more left and then an epilogue. And I promise, it won't take me two months to get them up this time.

The grocery store was much too large for such a small town, Peter decided as he read the numerous signs above the aisles, searching for the one that carried feminine products. The tips of his ears got red simply at the thought of asking one of the workers where it was, especially when most of them were giving him disdainful looks and a wide girth.

He sighed heavily as he found the section and went on to the other items on the list, finding himself sifting through the dozens of pillboxes on the shelves. Honestly, was it necessary to have thirteen different brands of menstrual symptoms-relief medication? And how was it possible that they, with such a wide array of choices, didn’t have the one that Gwen had specified?

This whole experience was making him way more irritated and upset than it should be, and Peter was ready to leave the few items he had and go back to the house and spend the rest of the day burrowed under his blankets—

“Peter?”

Peter gasped at the gruff voice, basket slipping out of his hands and spilling its contents onto the floor. He unthinkingly dropped to his knees to pick them up, hissing and straightening his back when the abrupt action jarred his bruises and cuts. He heard Wolverine clear his throat and shift from foot to foot.

“You, er, alright there, kid?”

“Y-y-yeah,” Peter whispered, putting everything back into the basket and standing up. He gave the mutant an uncomfortable grin, playing the pain off as a momentary thing. “What’re you doing here?”

“Vacation,” Logan answered, staring hard at the teenager—more specifically, his arm and his legs. “Had ta get away from the brats at the school.”

“Ah,” Peter mumbled, rubbing the cuts on his arm nervously through his sleeve. The other’s nostrils flared, and Peter internally cringed at the smell of old blood and fear that he was no doubt scenting.

“Heard about what, uh, happened with the Avengers,” Logan said after a pause, lowering his voice as to not be overheard. “’M guessin’ that’s why you’re here?”

Peter swallowed dryly, guilt and shame welling up. He should have realized that Logan knew from the very beginning—the gruff mutant was a part of the Avengers, even if he spent most of the time with the X-men, and would have been notified of an active member’s suspension.

“Sorta,” he said, fingers compulsively tugging at his sweatshirt. Peter didn’t elaborate on his answer, and Logan didn’t press him, which the teenager was grateful for. “I should probably go. My friend is waiting for me…”

Logan glanced down momentarily to look at what Peter was buying and then immediately stared off to the side, jaw clenched in an effort to keep a smirk off of his face. “I’d imagine she is,” he joked. “That probably put a damper on your guys’ weekend, eh?”

Peter ignored the blatant meaning of Logan’s words and beat a hasty retreat, heart thundering to get out of his chest. He forced himself not to run to the checkout counter, forgetting about the other things on the list.

He could come back later tonight or tomorrow if need be, but it was getting mighty hard to breathe in here, and it seemed as if all of things and people in his vicinity were looming over him, growing larger and more ominous as time progressed. Everyone’s faces were pointed at him, their eyes sharp and judging and oh _god_ he couldn’t breathe his chest hurt all of his nerves were on fire and he had to just get outoutout _out_ —

Peter’s body only allowed him to breathe in after he had passed through the sliding doors and was yards away, jogging parallel to the highway. His bruised muscles were still wound tight, adrenaline pounding through him and cuts aching and itchy.  He slowed to a walk, taking deep breaths and fighting the urge to go hide in the woods that lined the road for a few hours. The panic started to recede, and he took in his surroundings to give his brain something to focus on.

It looked like it was going to rain any second now, with the clouds a dull grey and a thin mist hanging in between the trees, and Peter pulled up his hood. He kept the jacket unzipped, though—his skin was still much too hot. And as he predicted, a few drops of water plopped onto his head moments later, when he was still at least four miles away from the house.

He huffed angrily as the light pattering turned into a downpour, the damp cold seeping deep into his bones. He splashed through the puddles, jumping out of the way when a truck came whizzing by him. Peter’s defenses were immediately raised when the vehicle slowed to a stop a few yards ahead, only to go into reverse and come up next to Peter.

The driver pushed the door open. “Get in,” Logan gruffly said.

Peter stood for an uncertain moment, weighing his choices and the likelihood that if he took off running Logan would hunt him down and demand answers. Logan raised an eyebrow, jerking his head for Peter to hurry up and get in.

He climbed into the truck and set the groceries by his feet.

“Where’re ya headed?” Logan asked, chewing on the end of his cigar.

“You can just drop me off by Northwest Drive, I can walk the rest of the way,” Peter said, none-too-eager to give out his address. He didn’t want to deal with a burly Canadian dropping by whenever he pleased.

Logan sighed heavily, obviously catching on to what Peter was thinking. “Just give me your damn address, kid. I won’t bother ya after I get ya there.” Peter blanched, pressing himself harder into the door to put more space between him and the mutant. He avoided the pointed look Logan directed at him.

Peter uttered the address, knowing that it would be heard no matter how softly it was said. Logan arched an eyebrow. “Sparrow’s Road?”

Peter warily glanced between Logan’s face and his knuckles, as if waiting for adamantium blades to appear. “Y-yeah. Why?”

“’S where I’m staying.”

Internally, the teenager screamed in frustration. So now, not only did he have Deadpool as a neighbor, but also he had Wolverine. Jesus Christ, this trip was turning into a disaster, and he was starting to suspect that SHIELD had sent Logan to watch him and/or Wade; it couldn’t be a coincidence that three superhumans all went to the same obscure lake all at the same time.

“Shouldn’t you be in school or someth—“ Logan stopped abruptly.

Logan was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone, which was resting in the cup holder under the stereo. He unlocked it and his whole demeanor turned grim while he read it. Typing a short response before tucking it into his pocket and focusing back on the road.

 “Vacation,” Peter answered the interrupted question, biting back his curiosity.

Logan grunted in response, before his cellphone buzzed again. The mutant grabbed it again, and this time, whatever was on the small screen made him pause. He slowly typed out a response and set it back down in the cup holder. Tilting his head to the side, Peter discreetly darted his eyes to where the phone lay. From the angle he was at, he could only see the first letter of the contact’s name and the beginnings of words.

Soft country crooned through the radio, playing under the thrum of the rain against the truck and the roaring engine, filling in the space where there should have been words. Peter kept his eyes firmly glued to the outside of his window, mind racing through all of the ‘what-ifs’ that could happen in this situation, ranging from being taken away from Gwen and relocated to being ridiculed violently for not being able to take care of himself.

When a few agonizing minutes passed, Logan turned onto Sparrow Street, slowing down as he passed the houses.

Peter pointed to Gwen’s house as it passed by. “Um. That was it.”

“I know,” Logan said calmly as he pulled into the driveway of a house farther down the road. Waiting outside the door, standing under the overhanging roof, was Gwen, her arms crossed and face impassive.

The paranoia started to return as the engine was turned off. “Uh, what’s going on?” Peter stammered, watching as Logan climbed out of the truck, grabbing his own groceries.

Logan shrugged, not giving anything away. Biting his lip, Peter hopped out of the car with his groceries. He took timid steps onto the porch, so he was standing in front of Gwen.

“Hey,” he greeted warily, casting his eyes downwards to avoid her considering gaze.

Gwen waited a moment before heaving a long-suffering sigh. “We need to talk,” she said quietly, a hand reaching out to take the bags from him.

Peter ducked his head in agreement. “Do…we have to do it here?” He discreetly motioned to where Logan was putting things away in the kitchen, a rare sight that on a good day would have earned the older man snarky and sarcastic remarks.

“Might as well,” she said, putting the groceries on the kitchen island in passing. “We’re here now. Wade’ll be with us, too, by the way.”

“’Re you gonna tell me what this is all about?” Logan spoke up, stopping what he was doing.

“Yes, yes, I will after we’re done,” Gwen assured him impatiently, a gentle hand on Peter’s back pushing him farther into the house. “You and I’ll have some things we have to go through.” Logan raised a surprised eyebrow at her direct and not intimidated demeanor.

“Fine.” Logan returned to putting things away, and Gwen followed Peter into the living room.

Wade was lounging on the couch, but shot up when Peter came in. The mercenary’s outfit was similar to the one from the night before—black sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt and his trademark mask that was rolled up to his nose.

“Hey, Petey,” he said, attempting to sound like his usual cheery self. Peter felt a small bit of warmth at the nickname.

“Hi, Wade,” he said, flopping into the couch.

Wade sat back down on the same couch. He sat just on the fringes of Peter’s comfort zone, He didn’t make any move to touch the teenager, or engage him in conversation. He was nearby, but he was not overbearing. The mercenary simply sat there, a steady and calm (Peter never in a million years thought he would be using those words to describe _Wade_ ) presence that was there for Peter to fall back on, if need be.

Gwen stood in front of them both, arms crossed. Without makeup to mask her face, Peter could easily see the heavy bags under her eyes, the crease of worry between her eyebrows and the pimples that he knew from experience only came out when she was stressed. Her hair was pulled up into a careless bun, something that she had sworn she would never wear, and her clothes were baggy and unfitted. Peter couldn’t help but feel like he was the one who had caused

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat this or beat around the bush,” Gwen said seriously. “I’ve been doing that for years, and look at where we are now: you’ve been suspended from school _and_ the Avengers, you’ve been hurting yourself, and you let yourself be hurt by Flash and his douche bag friends.”

Peter felt familiar pain start to constrict his chest and throat, and when he opened his mouth no sound came out. Gwen hushed him anyway. “And I’m sorry,” Gwen said, getting choked up as well. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve noticed how bad it was, I should’ve stepped in sooner, or helped with Aunt May, or _something_. I _knew_ that Flash was being a jackass to you, and I _knew_ you were struggling with everything, but I just let you sleep in my apartment and ignore you.” The tears that had been threatening to fall now were, streaming down her cheeks.

“Gwen,” Peter whispered shakily, eyes wide and horrified. “No, no, none of this is your fault, I—“

“I swear to God, Peter Benjamin Parker, if you finish that sentence I will end you,” Gwen practically yelled, waving a finger in a threatening manner. The anger dissipated in seconds when she saw him violently flinch away. She sat on the side of the coffee table, back hunched and head in her hands.

“You can’t blame yourself for everything,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “The only thing that you’ve done wrong is not telling someone that you were getting beaten up every fucking day.” Peter curled farther in on himself, rubbing his cuts through his sweatshirt nervously.

He started when the mercenary next to him gently yet firmly took his hand, stopping him from agitating the wounds more. Wade gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, his masked face managing to portray emotion as he slowly placed the hand on the couch between them. Peter swallowed heavily and, unable to sit still, started picking at his sleeves. Wade didn’t bother trying to stop him, knowing it was better than the alternative.

“Petey, what are you thinking?” Gwen said, eyes desperate when he momentarily glanced up. “I can’t tell what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Peter didn’t respond. He _couldn’t_ respond. It felt if he opened his mouth, the tears would come pouring down his face and he wouldn’t be able to hold back anything.  It was already out that he couldn’t stand up to a few idiots at his school; there was no need for Peter to make himself look worse.

Gwen bit the inside of her cheek when it became apparent that Peter wasn’t going to say anything of his own volition, that she was going to have to lead him through it all.

“Alright, let’s start with an easy question,” Gwen said, keeping her voice soft. “When did the bullying start?”

Peter swallowed tightly, and when he felt like he wasn’t going to fall apart, he started to speak. “Eighth grade,” he said in a whispery tone. “It wasn’t that bad at first, just him and his friends being dicks.” He paused. “But…I think the first time he punched me was in the middle of freshman year.”

“And why didn’t you tell Aunt May or a teacher?”

“I did tell a teacher,” Peter responded, eyes flashing. “Miss Lavender. But…she just thought I was starting fights and yelled at me. And then she told Aunt May, so I was grounded. I—I kind of gave up on telling people after that.”

“So why didn’t you kick their scrawny asses into next week when you turned all superhero?” Wade blurted out, unable to stop himself. “Man, I’ve seen you fight and what these guys look like. You could take them, easy.” Ignoring the implications Wade’s words had— _how does he know what they look like?_ —Peter answered the question.

“I tried to,” Peter defended himself weakly. “And when I did, I got suspended from school and the Avengers.”

“They didn’t believe it was self-defense?” Gwen asked sharply.

“They didn’t ask,” Peter clarified.

Reigning in her temper, Gwen nodded. “Okay. And what about the Avengers? How do _they_ treat you?”

“I don’t think any of them really like me?” Peter said uncertainly.

“Elaborate,” she pushed.

Peter gave a small groan of displeasure, biting his lip hard. He didn’t like the idea of trash-talking his team members; they didn’t need any more reasons to kick him off the Avengers.

“I mean, Clint and Natasha are always yelling at me for what I’ve done wrong, Steve doesn’t want me to go on missions, Tony makes fun of me, Bruce doesn’t even like to be in the same room as me, and the others are always gone…” He trailed off.

“Idiots,” Gwen uttered under her breath. Louder, she said, “But they didn’t actually do anything physical.” If one of the superheroes had decided to make Peter their personal punching bag, then there was a much higher chance of Peter getting seriously injured. Or worse.

“No,” Peter quickly said. “They didn’t.”

“Alright. Now, why’d Aunt May kick you out of the house?” At Gwen’s words, Wade started in surprise. He’d seen the elderly lady a few times in the past—she honestly seemed friendly and to adore Peter.

“SHIELD wouldn’t let me tell her about me being Spiderman,” Peter said, making Wade and Gwen let out sounds of indignant surprise. “So she jumped to conclusions, and kicked me out so I’d…learn responsibility.”

“Good God,” Wade growled, fist clenching tightly. Peter unconsciously leaned closer to him, attempting to stop him from losing control.

Gwen gave Wade a wry, bitter grin. “You haven’t seen the worst of it. Just wait until you see him with his shirt off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any grammatical/spelling errors will be fixed by tomorrow. I love you all and thank you for waiting for this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guess who was a terrible person and wasn't able to finish this until now.
> 
> I'm so sorry, guys. Life and school came and bit me in the ass harder than ever, and I had to focus on those before I could continue writing.
> 
> So after more than two months, here it is. The final part. Hopefully it'll live up to expectations.

Peter couldn’t look at Wade, couldn’t look at Gwen. He kept his back hunched and head down throughout the whole examination in the bathroom, blanching and shivering as Wade let out angry hisses and curses. Gwen’s ministrations were brisk, fast to save him from the embarrassment she knew he felt. She took multiple pictures of the bruises and cuts decorating him, having him shift his arms or legs to get clearer shots.

Afterwards, Gwen yanked her latex gloves off and threw them into the trash bin, stepping out with Wade so Peter could collect himself and get dressed.  Neither commented on the shaky breaths that were audible through the door.

“How about you take Peter back to my place?” Gwen prodded Wade softly, running a hand over her cheek. “Or to your room? I need to talk with Logan about this, and Peter doesn’t need to hear it.”

“I’ll take him back to your place,” Wade said. His room was a pigsty—he couldn’t subject Peter to the terror of spending the night there when the mercenary couldn’t even stand being in there himself.

“You should make him some tea,” she advised while stepping away. “He likes it.”

He waited until he heard Gwen’s footsteps reach the top of the stairs and her soft voice conversing with Logan’s harsh growls before he reentered the bathroom. Grief and rage bubbled in the back of his throat at the sight of Peter sitting on the edge of the tub, fully dressed and looking like he’d been hit by a semi. The teenage superhero kept his pale face pointed at the floor, no doubt hiding whatever he was feeling.

“C’mon,” Wade said, both he and Peter wincing at how loud he was in comparison to the silent room. “I have orders from Blondie to take you back her place. Mommy and Daddy need to talk about important things.” The joke soured, but Peter stood up and trailed out of the bathroom, not waiting to see if Wade would follow him.

Peter took off his shoes upon arriving, setting them by the other shoes with care and motioning for Wade to do the same. The older man hurriedly followed suit, putting his ratty tennis shoes by Peter’s.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Peter asked dully, rummaging around in the kitchen for a cup. “I can make—“

“I’ll make tea!” Wade blurted quickly as he remembered what Gwen had said, yanking the mug out of Peter’s grip with more aggression than necessary. Peter leaned back, eyes widening before squinting in confusion. “You should, uh, just sit down and chill,” he said in a notably softer tone, attempting to make up for his outburst. “I’ll make it.”

“Um. Okay.”

Peter hoisted himself up onto the counter, leaning against the cupboards and listlessly picking at his nails. The mercenary fought viciously with the teakettle, muttering curses under his breath as he worked to open the puzzle-like top and fill it with water. It was so stupidly modern and ‘simple’ that it took more tries than he’d like to say to open it. He’d never admit it, but he hadn’t ever had to use a teakettle before. He thought tea tasted like boiled grass and the types of visitors he had weren’t the kind who wanted to sit around and chitchat with a cup.

The teakettle was safely settled on the stovetop, and with nothing else to do, Wade scooted onto the island, sitting across from Peter.

Wade opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it before something inappropriate could get out. Vetoing a few subjects and selecting his words carefully, he finally said, “Logan and Blondie are gonna take care of this.”

Peter stared at him, solemn. He didn’t give any hint to if what the mercenary was saying was the right thing.

“They’ll probably kick and stab the asses of everyone at school, make sure that no one even thinks about fucking with you again.”

A corner of Peter’s mouth quirked upwards, a movement so minuscule that Wade nearly missed it.

“Those little shits won’t even know what hit ‘em,” Wade babbled on, spurred by the reaction. “Blondie’s a tough little thing, I bet she can totally scare the ever-living shit out of them. And even if she can’t, you know that Logan could make them pee their pants by looking at them. And totally don’t worry about the Avengers. I _know_ that the green guy and Captain America’ll take your side. I’m not supposed to know this, and you’ll never figure out how I found out, but when you were ‘suspended’”—he sneered the word—“they stood up and are still fightin’ pretty damn hard to shoo it away.”

Peter snorted derisively, thinking back to the disappointed texts he’d gotten from Steve after he’d been suspended.

“I’m not kidding. They’re going nuts tryin’ to get you back because they know you wouldn’t beat on someone without a good reason.”

“Why would they do that, Wade?” Peter asked, head thumping back on the cupboards behind him.

“Because they know that you’re a good kid,” Wade said vehemently, leaning towards Peter. “They can see that you’re sweet, way too selfless and strong as a motherfucker _._ You put up with being people’s punching bag and then go right out to save them from crazy super villains. And then you respect what Fury says and play the regular teenager with your aunt. It’s crazy. _You’re_ crazy, Peter, and one of the best people I know.”

Peter flushed, wincing and staring to fold in on himself. “I’m not strong,” he uttered, tilting his head pointedly towards where the cuts on his arm were.

Wade slid off the counter and closed the distance towards them, standing in between the other’s legs. With deliberate motions, he took Peter’s wrist and rolled up his sleeve, staring at them closely. He placed his large hand over them and met Peter’s gaze.

“Yeah, you are,” Wade said. “You chose to cut yourself instead of killing yourself. That’s the strongest and bravest choice you could make.”

Peter’s eyes widened almost comically, face a bright red. His eyebrows furrowed and his throat closed up. He reached out for the hand around his wrist, interlacing their fingers. Tears blurred his vision, slipping down his cheeks as Wade pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, letting his lips linger.  He moved down and kissed under his eyes, even though the skin there was soaked with tears. Another kiss was lightly pressed to his nose.

“It’s okay,” Wade whispered, lips barely brushing against Peter’s. “I’m here. I’m not gonna leave.” He leaned their foreheads together, Peter squeezing his hand tightly and fighting back sobs.

They stayed like that for an unknown amount of time, Wade gently hushing and covering Peter’s face with butterfly kisses. Peter’s crying quieted down to hiccupping sobs, but he stayed pressed against Wade, accepting the affection and clinging to his hand.

“Wade?”

“Hm?” the mercenary hummed, lips against Peter’s temple.

“I don’t think you turned on the stove.”

Wade turned to see that yes, the stove wasn’t on. “Damn it.”

Peter laughed tearfully, wiping the remaining wetness from his cheeks and chin while Wade went and started boiling the water. He smiled goofily when he returned, slipping his arms around Peter’s slim waist and nudging his nose along Peter’s jawline.  Peter shyly wound his arms around Wade’s neck.

“You okay for now?” Wade asked, dorky grin morphing into a nicer crooked smile.

“Yeah,” Peter assured him, running his knuckles almost unconsciously over the back of Wade’s neck.

“I should probably warn you that you’re never getting rid of me now,” Wade said matter-of-factly. “I’ve been waiting for _months_ to ask you out, and now that I got you I’m not letting go.”

Peter giggled breathlessly, flustered by the attention and what Wade was saying. “I didn’t know that,” he managed to say.

“Seriously?” Wade playfully gasped. “You didn’t see me staring at your cute butt? I could’ve sworn you caught me a few times.” Peter shook his head, biting his lip. “Well, that doesn’t really matter now—Jesus _Christ_ , what is _that_?” He whipped around, reaching for the gun that usually rested at his side.

“It’s the teakettle,” Peter said, looking at him oddly. “It just means the water’s ready.”

“How do I stop it from screaming?” he yelled in frustration, turning the stove off and hovering over it. Peter came up and poured the water into the mug, making Wade sigh in pure relief.

“That was terrifying,” Wade said seriously, going to the living room. He internally cheered when his actions earned another light chuckle Peter, the tension draining out of the teenage boy. The small victory made him ridiculously happy, his chest swelling to the point of bursting and hands twitching to touch. It occurred to Wade that he _could_ finally touch him, that he wasn’t going to get webbed to the wall for grabbing Peter’s hand.

“I’m gonna go change,” Peter said uncertainly, shifting under Wade’s adoring gaze and motioning blindly to the stairs. “Uh, do you wanna pick out a movie? Or something?” Wade nodded, and Peter left to change.

Picking out a movie that seemed lighthearted from Gwen’s large collection, he fiddled with the TV and the Blu-ray player until it started playing and then paused it. He grabbed the blankets from a chair and chucked them onto the couch, turning on a few lamps to light the room as the sun set. He nestled into the corner of the couch with the TV remote, draping the blankets over his lap and waiting for Peter to come back.

The teenager returned, wearing comfortable clothes and sipping at his tea. Peter hesitated, sitting unsurely next to Wade, fearing that he would get rejected. Wade put those fears to rest by hugging him close, fussing with the blanket so they were both snugly covered with them.

“This movie alright?” Wade asked, settling in and pressing play.

“It’s fine,” Peter said. He laid his head on Wade’s shoulder, and the movie started.

By the time Gwen came back to the house, her eyes were rimmed with red but there was a grimly satisfied air hanging around her. Hours had passed, and Peter was splayed across Wade’s chest, sleeping deeply.

He greeted her silently, watching Gwen’s gaze melt at the sight of Peter. She crouched in front of them, running her fingers through Peter’s messy hair. “How long’s he been asleep?” she whispered.

“Coupla hours,” Wade responded. “How, uh, did it go with Wolvy?”

“Great,” she hummed. “He has a meeting tomorrow with Nick Fury to talk about putting Peter back on the team, and he’s going in early so he can talk to Dr. Banner and Captain America about everything. Strength in numbers.” Wade nodded absently, brow furrowing.

“Does Petey know that?”

“I mentioned that Director Fury and probably some of the team would have to know,” she said, “while we were taking the pictures. He wasn’t happy, but said I could.” She scowled suspiciously at Wade. “What, you think I’d invade his privacy like that?”

“You did when you told me,” Wade pointed out, shrinking under the intensity of her glare. “Um. Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

She straightened her legs, pulling her shirt down from where it had ridden up. “I have schoolwork to do,” she stated. “Can I leave Peter here with you?”

“Yeah,” Wade said. “I’ll get the little spidey up to his bed when he wakes up.”

Gwen kissed Peter’s forehead, wiping away the light pink lip-gloss that was left behind. “G’night, Peter,” she cooed. She made sure to give the other boy one last warning glare before she left them, shutting off lights as she went.

Wade stroked Peter’s hair, mimicking Gwen’s earlier actions of kissing his forehead, and continued to watch the movie.

***

Peter’s return to school came around too quickly.

There had been no official meeting yet between Peter and the rest of the Avengers, but he had gotten a politely apologetic email from Director Fury. Peter was welcome to join them on missions whenever he felt ready to return, and they’d have a meeting to discuss his school situation and clearance for telling Aunt May about his identity as Spiderman. There was also a message at the bottom that sternly told Peter that if a situation as this were ever to arise again, he was to immediately inform Fury himself, or one of his team members.

“He _actually_ sent you an email,” Wade had said, gobsmacked as he leaned over Peter’s shoulder to read it for himself. “A personal email. Holy shit. What the hell did Logan do to him?”

Peter muttered something nonsensical, typing out a quick response before he lost his nerve and turned his attention to Wade.

Bruce showed up at Gwen’s apartment a day after Peter read Director Fury’s email, looking sheepish and asking Gwen if Peter was in.

“I’m not sure,” Gwen said bluntly, glancing around the door to see Peter.

He shrugged, mouthing frantically, ‘ _Ask him what he wants.’_ He crept closer as Gwen relayed the question.

“I-I was hoping we could get some coffee and talk,” Bruce said. “To make sure he was doing okay, and that he had a chance to talk to someone.” He backed up a step. “But it’s all right if he doesn’t want to. I’ll talk to him whenever he comes back for a mission.”

Gwen leaned back again, raising an eyebrow at Peter. _Well?_

Against his better judgment, Peter stepped out from behind the door. “Let me get my shoes.”

Bruce took him to a small coffee shop nearby, sitting them in the far back and paying for Peter’s coffee. Nothing was said for awhile, both unsure of where to begin, the noises of the coffee shop filling the space.

“I, uh, wanted to start off by apologizing to you, Peter,” Bruce admitted, holding his coffee cup with both hands. He wryly smiled, adding, “But I think you’re a bit sick people doing that, huh?”

Peter snorted. “A bit, yeah,” he agreed. “But I guess it’s the sentiment that matters.”

“Well, I think what matters is that no one noticed that you were being violently bullied at school and that some of your team was harassing you.” Peter blinked owlishly, not prepared for the amount of bitterness in Bruce’s soft tone. The scientist coughed to hide his embarrassment. “I was really…upset when I found out. Steve’s not very happy, either.”

“Who told you?”

“Agent Coulson told us about the suspension,” Bruce explained. “Something seemed off about the whole thing, so I did a little digging after I couldn’t get into contact with you. And lo and behold, I found a police report with your statement and documentation of your bruises and some other cases concerning your violent classmates.” He drank from his coffee cup. “The big guy nearly got out a few times—practically gave Steve a heart attack.”

Peter swallowed convulsively, taken off guard by Bruce’s last sentence. “Oh,” he managed faintly.

Their conversation went on and eventually came to a close, Bruce needing to return to Stark Tower for a meeting and Peter needing to finish up his homework.

Bruce startled, eyes narrowing fractionally behind his glasses. “You’re going back to school? When those guys are still there?”

Peter sighed heavily and said that yes, he was going back to school. Gwen and Wade had been very vocal concerning their disapproval of his return.

Gwen had asked him multiple times if he was sure that this was what he wanted; if he wanted to stay out of school for another week or transfer somewhere new, no one would think any less of him. The worry that creased her forehead only deepened when Peter adamantly told her that he was going to school, and that he would talk about transferring districts after the year finished.

In the privacy of Gwen’s spare bedroom, though, when he was curled around his boyfriend in the middle of the night, Peter confessed his uncertainty to Wade. “I’m scared that everything’s going to go back to how it was before,” he shrugged, thumb stroking aimless patterns on Wade’s scarred chest.

Wade clung to the sides of Peter’s head, forcing him to look up at the mercenary’s shining eyes. “It won’t,” he said forcefully. “I’ll kill someone before that happens.” Peter wasn’t sure if he should find that flattering and disturbing, before deciding that it didn’t matter.

Because for once, he actually had a swell of belief in his chest that things may be okay. And this surety grew when he told Director Fury, even more so when he called Steve and had the captain tell him he was a brave, if foolish, young man, earning a genuine smile.

It was an unsettling feeling to abruptly have everyone care for him, after being ignored for so many years. The uneasiness hadn’t yet shifted over to the warm, fuzzy, loving emotion he knew he should be feeling, and the pessimistic part of him was still refusing to believe that the attention would last for long. It would fade, and he’d go back to being homeless, jobless and bullied at school. History would be put on loop, and the story would repeat until Peter lost it.

When the anxiety would be at it’s worst and it felt like everything was closing in, Peter would stay up late into the night with Wade. The older man would hold him tenderly, carding his fingers tenderly through Peter’s brown hair and being a rock, something physical for Peter to latch on to. He’d speak when Peter needed to hear someone and he’d stay silent when words were too much and made the world too fast. Peter would be able to breathe again and relax, but Wade wouldn’t leave him until the morning, sneaking back to his apartment before Gwen and her roommate would awake.

Peter was sorely tempted to beg for Wade to come to the meeting with Director Fury, but he knew that that was one of the stupidest things he’d ever wanted. He adored Wade, truly he did, but his mouth would do more harm than good, and the mercenary would no doubt end up with SHIELD out for his head.

The meeting started out with just the two of them. He had offered to invite Aunt May, but the teenager refused. He didn’t think he’d be able to deal with her in his current mental state. When things calmed down, and Peter was able to think about his aunt without feeling nauseous, then he’d talk to her. Fury accepted his choice without a fight.

Peter haltingly told his superior the problems with his team and school. Director Fury scribbled down the names of the boys at school and a few notes, asking clarifying questions softly when necessary. For most of it, though, Nick listened. He maintained his stoic façade the whole time, giving Peter no indication of what he was thinking.

Partway through, Steve knocked on the door and entered, wearing civilian clothing. He asked if he could sit in for the meeting, directing the question not at Fury but at Peter. Flustered, the teenager agreed, shifting in his seat as Steve took the chair next to him, hand drifting across Peter’s shoulder. The meeting went on and ended with Fury stating that he would be having a word with the team, and that he’d work on the expulsion of the more troublesome classmates. Peter didn’t complain.

Steve apologized tightly after the meeting, valiantly trying to reign in his emotions. “I didn’t know,” he said helplessly.

“I’m aware,” Peter uttered sharply, pushing past the superhero and leaving the building. There was a twinge of guilt at the heartbroken look on Steve’s face, but didn’t necessarily want to say the word ‘sorry.’ He’d find some other way to express that he had forgiven his team leader, he decided as he entered the apartment.

A call came in the middle of the night from Agent Coulson, a terse request for him to join the other Avengers. Apparently, another crazy had found a spell book and had donned a costume to wreak havoc in downtown. Peter was struggling into his suit before the call was even finished, and was swinging across the city to the battle within minutes.

The sorcerer was cackling madly, as was appropriate for a villain like him, and was castling blue-tinted, wispy spells at the Avengers, who were struggling to keep up. All of them were fighting against the beasts he summoned, and Tony was behind a building, desperately trying to get a sticky blue substance out of his armor so he could move freely.

Peter didn’t announce his presence right away. What if they didn’t want them there? What if he was just called a distraction and kicked off the team again, this time once and for all? They all worked so well together, each knowing what to do and where to go and oh _God_ Peter was never going to be as good as them, he shouldn’t even _try_ —

Logan came flying seemingly out of nowhere, landing on the floating sorcerer. The robed man roared in anger, sending a wave of energy out to knock the mutant off. It was successful, but Wolverine managed to knock the spell book out of his hands. The sorcerer looked at him, shocked, and his magic started to waver. He started babbling out an incantation, working hard to get his defenses back up, and Peter leaped on the opportunity. He spun his webs expertly, tying the man up and gagging his mouth, halting the magic before it got going again. The teenager landed next to him as he fell onto the ground.

The team seemed stunned to actually see him there, but they composed themselves and hid it. Steve’s face was glowing with pride, as was Tony’s when he took off his mask. Natasha’s face was as stoic as usual, escorting the struggling sorcerer to the waiting SHIELD van.

Logan clapped Peter on the shoulder, jerking forward with the force of it. “Good to have you back, kid,” he said gruffly, turning around to help Natasha.

Behind his mask, a grin started to stretch over Peter’s face.

The Avengers all had to report to the Stark Tower for a quick debrief of what happened, and so Peter could change back into his civilian clothing. He changed in the gym’s locker rooms, Steve doing the same next to him.

Tony came in right as Peter was pulling on his shirt, breathless and relieved when he saw him.

“Peter,” he said, forgoing the usual nicknames and giving Steve a quick peck in greeting. “God, I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve picked up my phone at least a dozen of times to call you but couldn’t get the nerve. Can we talk? Right now? Please?”

“I can’t tonight, Tony,” Peter said. “It’s a school night. I need _some_ sleep.”

“Tomorrow, then,” the other threw out. His eyes expressed his earnest distress. “I really gotta talk to you.”

Peter mumbled an agreement, and the relief radiating from Tony took him off guard. The superhero squeezed his forearm affectionately before leaving, giving his husband another kiss. The doors slid shut and Steve angrily made sure that Peter knew he didn’t have any obligation to see him, that if he wasn’t comfortable Steve would tell Tony off.

“I _want_ to talk to him,” Peter assured Steve.

And he did; Tony had been coarse and careless towards him, yes, but he was never purposefully cruel, like his schoolmates. Peter had always looked up to him, admiring his charm and intelligence, and wanted to mend their relationship to where they were at least acquaintances.

Peter returned home and slept for the few hours he could before he had to get up for school.

The whispers and stares started when he stepped foot on the school’s property. No one approached him, choosing to stay a safe distance away while he rummaged through his defaced locker—more than one person had spray-painted degrading words across it’s surface—and went to his classes. Flash and his buddies sneered at him the whole time, miming strangling him and drawing crude pictures of him being stabbed.

Flash, especially, seemed murderous, leaving a note on Peter’s desk that read, “ _I’m going to kill you._ ”

_Inhale._

Peter forced himself to breathe, to just stay in his seat until the end of the day. He was close, so close to finishing his classes, and he had to show these assholes that he was going to actually do this. He tucked the note safely into his pocket, leaving a mental reminder to give it to Director Fury.

_Exhale._

The final bell rang. Students poured into the hallways. Peter all but ran out, keeping a close eye for Flash or any of his little cronies, heading to Gwen’s apartment. For once the universe was nice to him, and Peter wasn’t jumped.

The front door closed behind him and Peter let himself fall apart, breathing in fast gasps and compulsively rubbing and scratching at his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning heavily against the wall and hunching in on himself. Rough hands grabbed his wrists, coaxing them away from his reddened skin. Peter stared up at Wade helplessly, babbling out how everyone was right; he shouldn’t have gone to school, he was stupid, stupid for thinking he’d be able to do it.

Wade let Peter get it all out, halting him whenever he tried to scratch at his arms ago and shushing him soothingly. Sweet words were murmured to Peter, and eased him through his anxiety attack. The mercenary prodded Peter to explain what had happened at school, prepared to go out and kill if someone had so much as laid a finger on his boyfriend.

“I’m still going back,” Peter strangled out.

“No, Peter—“

“I’m going. I have to have something normal in my life, Wade. I’ll get my schedule changed so I won’t have Flash in any of my classes, I’ll sit in the library all day if I have to, but I _need_ to do this. I can’t hide in my friend’s house for the rest of my life.”

Wade kissed him softly, saying that Peter could do whatever he needed to.

Tony sent him a long email that night, and Peter read it on his tablet in bed, Wade wrapped around him and snoring. It was one of the sweetest things Peter had ever heard or seen written from Tony. He apologized profusely in it, saying that he couldn’t wait until the next day to get what he needed to say out. He swore that things were going to change, and that—if Peter wished it—he would give the police all of the footage he’d stolen that captured Flash’s acts against him. _I won’t do anything you don’t want, Peter, but Bruce and I really want you to take it to the police._

What really shocked him, though, was that at the end of the email, Tony offered Peter a place to stay.

_Bruce told me that you were living with a friend right now, and I wanted you to know that you had other options and can always come stay with me. The Tower has way too many empty and useless rooms right now. And it makes sense that you should live with the rest of the team in case of emergencies. You’d have a whole floor to yourself, and could do whatever with it. But if you’re not cool with that, I could rent an apartment nearby for you to stay at by yourself. Grandpa Steve’d have a ball if you were closer._

_(Don’t tell Steve I told you this, but he loves you a lot, Peter. He thinks of you as his son. I can’t tell you how heartbroken he was when he found out about this whole thing. He barely slept the whole time you were gone. I have never seen him like that, in the whole time we’ve been together. If you could just talk to him, even if it’s only to say ‘hi,’ it would make him feel so much better.)_

_Wow, this is starting to sound like I’m trying too hard. I guess I kind of am. I just want you to be happy and comfortable, Peter. Steve, Bruce, me, all of us. Clint and Nat do, too, in their own weird way. That’s why they didn’t want you on the team—they lost their childhood killing and fighting. They don’t want that for you, too._

Peter put down the tablet and cuddled closer into Wade, processing what he’d read. The videos…he’d have to discuss that with Wade and Gwen. He’d definitely talk about moving to the tower with them, too, because that sounded pleasant. He’d love to be closer to his teammates, and to Steve. The part in Tony’s email about Steve had struck a chord in him, and he desperately wanted to see him, talk to him, make him stop feeling bad.

Mulling over his thoughts, Peter abruptly realized that he had control over his life for the first time in a long time. The control he’d so desperately been seeking, going as far as harming himself for, was finally there. Peter could decide where he wanted to live, what he wanted to do about school…

That feeling of hope was back in his chest. Peter knew there was still so much to deal with, and that he wasn’t close to getting over the anxiety and depression. it no longer felt like he was standing in front of a cliff thousands of feet high, expected to climb it with no powers and just his body, though. The cliff was shorter now, and he had the proper equipment to climb it.

Listening to Wade breathe and mumble nonsense, Peter smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. It feels weird to actually be done with this, but satisfying. 
> 
> I didn't want to give Peter the stereotypical 'and they lived happily forever' ending, but felt like I should at least put him on the path of getting there.
> 
> If you guys have any ideas of what I should write next, spideypool or otherwise, then please, please, please send me a message on my tumblr! I finally have time to write and I'm really eager to do so!
> 
> darkmoonmaiden.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, no pressure, but fanart would be the coolest thing ever. I have never, NEVER, in my whole life, had someone draw me something)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who stayed with me until the end of this fic. You all mean so much to me, more than you'll ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I should explain the 'Inhale. Exhale.' thing. I'm kind of basing that off of personal experience: when I get into deep depressions, everything hurts and makes me exhausted, even breathing. So it's a challenge to just take one breath after another. 
> 
> Also, I'm using it because whenever I cry or get upset, people just tell me to take 'deep breaths' and calm down--so, Peter's always trying to calm his down.
> 
> Thank you for reading! ((If you left a comment, I would be most happy u.u))

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rain on Windows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050648) by [Firegrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegrace/pseuds/Firegrace)
  * [The Wisdom of Children](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619278) by [TunaFishChris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TunaFishChris/pseuds/TunaFishChris)




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